


Damn PLaylist

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-17
Updated: 2000-09-17
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray K pines.





	Damn PLaylist

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Damn Playlist

This is my first Due South story. M/M slash warning. If that doesn't butter your muffin, hit that nifty "back" button and be on your merry way. Rated R for language, adult content etc. Assault & Flattery can go to __

Im a music junkie so most of my stories come with their own soundtrack. "Cubically Contained" by The Headstones and "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls add their own. 

I don't own ANYTHING here, just using 'em for kicks & lawywers are over-rated anyway. None of this would be if not unwitting inspiration from Te, Bone adn Ryoko Nakazato's "Iris" picture in the Hexwood gallery. Big beautiful thank you to Viridian 5 for superbeta, gentle guidance and general know-how (about computers, get your dirty mind out of the gutter)any mistakes are on my stubborn ass. Handshakes & shifty looks to Anagi for posting. 

  
  


  
DAMN PLAYLIST  
By Sketch-Case

* * *

Ray Kowalski sighed, stretched. Paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork. He was at his desk in the bullpen filling reports- mostly who did what to who for how many jellybeans. Breaking a case rocked but the written stuff sucked. He glanced at the clock in the bullpen, almost quitting time, guess there was a god after all. And one of his more understated miracles (in Ray's opinion anyway) was walking towards his desk. He couldn't hold back a grin as his official/unofficial partner, Benton Fraser strode forward, smiling. 

"Hello, Ray" he greeted him warmly. 

"Hey Fraze, I'm just finishin' off. Feel like gettin' a bite to eat?" 

"Certainly, Ray, did you have anyplace in mind?" 

"My bedroom" popped into his head before he could squelch the thought. He choked, blinked. 

"Uh, don't matter, wherever's good" 

Fraser nodded, "Dewey recently told me of a nice Italian restaurant--" 

"Sounds like a plan" Ray interrupted. 

Distance sounded like a very very good plan and he was up and out of the bullpen, knowing Fraser would follow. He wasn't sure where those little thoughts came from, or even why they started popping into his head- he knew when though, that was for damn sure. That day aboard the Henry Allen. He had decided life was but a dark comedy, and even though most of the jokes--no doubt written for entertainment of the gods--would go right over his head, he would deal--as long as they got out of this little predicament. 

Then life threw him the ultimate in irony: save his ass only to make him live in sweet torture since. 

It didn't take much to bring it all back: his own mock motions of swimming in the freezing water, lungs burning from lack of oxygen, panic in the impossibly long hallway of the sinking ship. All of the sudden his lungs weren't burning they cold, frozen and he'd never breath again. He slowly succumbed to the sleek curtain of cold, numbing arms and legs until they were gone, irrelevant, and the single frozen thought of "so close yet so far." Suddenly Heat, strong arms bringing his shoulders back to his body, reminding him how very much he *had* a body with cell that were pleased as punch to be getting oxygen. Warm wet air in his lungs and bright blue eyes locked on his own. . . which could only mean that the mouth sealed firmly over his own were *Frasers* 

And, and, and. Screw giving death a happy and becoming fish food, cuz he had never been more awake, more alive and just incredibly, grade-9-just-discovered-your-dad's-hidden-Playboy's-*hard*. 

Certain Fraser knew and maybe even approved, cuz those blue eyes were locked on his gazing deep- *must* have seen something. This could only be described as a moment. Giddy- both finally fixed on the same frequency, compleatly connected since, well, ever. //Don't remember this kinda training. . .problems connecting with your partner? No problem! Just stick your tongue in his mouth. No wonder Canadians were known peace keepers.// Then Fraser lifted his hand in an A-OK sign and . . . swam away. 

Pretty much did it for any kind of normal dreams, normal sleep, hell, normal *reactions* around his partner. Transfer? Not a snowballs chance in hell. And here they were, several weeks later and he still hadn't got up the balls to do anything. Um, bad choice of words, Ray felt things stirring and twitching down there. 

"Ray, ray, ray, ray" monotone, intent on his face, something like mischief in the eyes. 

Mischief on Fraser? 

Blink and it was gone and Ray was leaning in, keys ready to open the GTO. Right where he had been when he paused to indulge in memory. "Ugh just thinking" wincing, tinny-lie tone. "New case,"he finished lamely. 

"Ah" 

The ever present "Ah" There were several versions of that subtle monosyllable, this one was "OK, I'll drop it--for now." 

Just drive, avoid those eyes. Both of them watching each other out of the corners of their eyes. Not a single intelligent thing to say, so fiddle with the knob on the radio. . .Britney "they're real I swear" Spears, bad. . .Limper Bizkit, worse. Announcement for HEMPSTOCK 2000. Hempstock 2000? College radio. Kids these days, they do the darndest things. Not bad music though. //Those paranoid little fuckers take their paranoid little time, and when the mood roles in they're bankrobbin' and Im a hostage who will drive// 

Yeah he knew all about moods and fucked up thoughts. Stupidstupidstupid. Too late, duck walk to the quaint little restaurant and smile like everythings just greatness. 

Dinner was a quiet affair, understatement that. Conversation sputter two-steps-from-the-weather-inane and died. Leaving them staring at plates of cooling food. Ridiculous- after breaking a case they should be buoyant (buoyant? Fraser was affecting both of his heads now) and discussing/argueing why Fraser didn't really need to point out if someone had a gun pointed at your head you dont usually move, or what kind of hunch makes you duck into a darkened closet, dragging your partner with you. 

Driving again, radio too loud over the too quiet handin over from the meal. Consulate and then he could escape to his apartment and smooth velvet dark where he could close his eyes and pretend it was Fraser's hands and mouth all over him, could practically feel and taste Fraser. . . //Not now, down boy.// Too sharp brake in front of the consulate and concerned Mountie eyes were on him. God this would be so much easier if Fraser wasn't so concerned! Stella had been a neat trick, but apparently the gods weren't finished with him yet. 

"Consulate, sweet consulate Fraze." 

Fraser shifted in his seat. "Ray." Fraser licked his lip. 

"Fraser." Eyes strait ahead, determined not to look. 

"Ray." 

"Fraze." 

//Shifty. Why is he so fucking shifty?// Out of the corner of his eye Ray watched the larger man rub his eyebrow. 

"Ahh, that is well. . ." Fraser stalled, pulling at his collar. "Well it's just you seem, upset," crick "and I was wondering, I mean I wasn't sure. . ." crick 

Wow. All three nervous Fraser ticks and all in a row. He had to see this, this shifty Fraser thing. Fraser looked-- strange. No idea what that look was. Sad, scared and. . .something. "Crick" again. Cold fear in his stomach- was he that obvious? Did Fraser know? 

"What is it Fraser?" The tone was sharp but Ray couldn't help it. 

"I just wanted to know if it had something, if it involved, if there was something I had done. . ." 

This was so much worse, Fraser was *concerned* about him, worried it was something *he'd* done. But why did he look so frightened? The perfect posture was unnaturally stiff, even for Fraser. Ray frowned, leaning forward and Fraser pulled back as if expecting. . . Violence? 

This was beyond weird and it was way too late to deal with right now. //He's waiting for an answer// Ray pulled his voice out of hibernation. "No, nothing, everything's just ducky. I'm just y'know, tired." 

Fraser nodded, his head bobbing. It would be almost comical if this wasn't so weird. They stared at each other. 

"G'nite Fraser." Meaningful. Time to go good buddy, partner, unwitting fantasy material. 

What the fuck was going on? Hope. Maybe Fraser didn't want to go, was trying to tell him something. . .too late the Mountie was already out of the car. "I will see you tommorow, Ray." Quick as a cat up the walk and swallowed into the dark. 

//If he moves like that normally. . .//Stupid stupid thought. Turn the key in the ignition, running, but the thought of driving is more energy then he can muster. Radio on; no assualt from the usual overly-friendly-AM-radio-voice. College radio. Deep throaty woman's voice. "And you are listening to Brave New Waves and we just heard 'A boy and his machine Gun' from the Matthew Good Band." A boy and his machine gun? Not tonight boys and girls, he would take refuge in bubble-gum pop. Twisting the dial, surely the brainless quality would make him feel blank enough to drive home. "Baby, Baby Ohhh..." Ugh. Or make him sick either way he was out of there. 

"And that was New Kidz on the Backstreet, with their hot hit 'Baby, Baby Ohh'! Before that we heard InSick with *their* hot hit "Ohh Baby Baby'! Isn't it great?! //That man sounds like Jim Carrey on cheap glue,// Ray thought wearily. "Coming up! we've got the stuff you hear over and over! Let's start off with that overplayed hit, 'Misery' from The Moffats!" 

Cruel, cruel bastard. Whoever designed the playlists for this station was one sick puppy. "And now to slow things down a bit, we've got the Goo Goo Dolls with 'Iris'." 

Iris. Soundtrack to weepy Nick Cage flick. And Meg Ryan. So cute, so sweet, she probably gave old people diabetes. But the song was. . .utterly identifiable. Damn, fucking playlist. 

//And I'd give up for ever to touch you, cuz I know that you feel me somehow/ You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't want to go home right now. . .// 

Fraser know something was up, knew Ray like no one else, and Ray could never leave him. 

//...and all I can breath is your life...// 

All he could think about was Fraser after, quite literally breathing his life. Sexual frustration was one thing, this was deeper. Why did he have to be such a romantic? 

//..and I don't want the world to see me cuz I don't think that they'd understand..// 

God knows no one else would understand; he barely did himself. 

//...and you cant fight the tears that aint coming..// 

All of the sudden the tears *were* coming and Ray had to pull over laying his head on the steering wheel. He couldn't believe he was getting sappy over a sappy, blatantly manipulative song from a sappy, blatantly manipulative Meg Fucking Ryan movie. 

//..you bleed just to know you're alive..// 

He felt like bleeding, smashing the window with his hand. Physical pain made emotional pain real, justified. His chest hitched, tight with sobs that wanted to escape. 

He had to do something, couldn't take it anymore. Tommorow. Grim decision, but better than to never try, never know. Back of his sleeve across his eyes, drew in a shaky breath. 

//..I just want you to know who I am...// 

Wiped his nose and pulled away from the curb. "Tommorow," Ray thought, determined, "tommorow you're going to see who I am, Fraze, and nothings ever going to be the same." 

THE END 


End file.
